


Tales of Numenor's Last Gleaming

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe (DH AU) D version [28]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Spy, Comfort, Cousins, Exile, F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Invasion, Loyalty, Male-Female Friendship, Númenor, Original Characters - Freeform, Spanking, Spies & Secret Agents, Treason, long-lost family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories of Elendil and the Faithful, before the Fall of Numenor and after, focusing on an AU version of Imrazor, possibly the first Prince of Dol Amroth.</p><p>New Chapter 3 Summary: Ar-Pharazon, at Sauron's urging, plans to invade Aman. Ar-Pharazon's squire Imrazor plots to betray his King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Light, Last Light

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Second Age Year 3319. Everything relating to Imrazor is speculation departing from one of several backstories posited by Tolkien. Inzilbeth, the grandmother of Miriel, may or may not have had daughters as well as sons. It is distantly possible that in one of the backstories proposed for Imrazor, he might have been born on Numenor, and been kin to Ar-Pharazon as well as Elendil.

The first light of day broke over the island of Numenor. The last time Elendil and the Faithful would ever see it. Their nine ships were already past the harbor walls, and true to their word, Imrazor's kin had kept Ar-Pharazon's fleet from stopping them.

Elendil's youngest grandchild Meneldil stirred. His younger daughter-by-law whispered lullabies, trying to soothe him. A baby's cry would probably not bring pursuit, but why chance it?

But Meneldil was not contented, he kept looking to something off the side of the ship. Elendil nodded to the babe's father, Anarion, who leaned over the side of the vessel and cursed, before calling to Isildur "A little help, brother?"

Isildur came, and the two grabbed the protesting Imrazor before he could make good his escape. Elendil sighed. The boy was persistent; but he had known that already. Inzilbeth's grandson by her youngest daughter had needed persistence, to win his way from Ar-Pharazon's camp to Elendil's, and all the way past Elendil's guards, to warn the leader of the Faithful of Ar-Pharazon's latest plots.

"Tie him up." Elendil ordered reluctantly. Imrazor glared, but he could do nothing. He was but a teenager, and small for his age, and Elendil's sons were great warriors in their prime. Isildur's grip on the boy's shoulders was firm but gentle, and Anarion took care that the knots were tight but not painful.

The family of Elendil stayed at the rear of the ship that would bear them into exile forever, watching the shore of Numenor recede in the distance until it was naught but a vague shadow on the horizon. Elendil still hoped that Ar-Pharazon might turn from his terrible betrayal, though he knew it unlikely. Elendil had saved what, and who, he could. They watched Numenor fade together, Elendil and his wife, his sons and their wives and children. And their cousin Imrazor, tied hand and foot, and held clasped against Anarion's chest.

Elendil was sorry to treat their young savior thusly, but at least Imrazor would live. Had he slipped over the side of their ship and returned to his parents, after having betrayed Ar-Pharazon to the Faithful, Elendil would have lost another of Inzilbeth's line to the darkness. And he had not been willing to let Imrazor make that choice. He hoped the boy would forgive him someday. Elendil and his family would show Imrazor every honor. It would not make up for being unable to save Miriel, and Inzilbeth's other descendants. But it was the best Elendil could offer.

In the future, Imrazor would call Elendil father, and be proud to fight side by side with his foster-brothers Isildur and Anarion, and their distant kin and allies the elves. In time, he would be called brother by Amroth, and husband by Mithrellas, and friend and protector by the elves of Edhellond. But when Elendil's nine ships left Numenor, Imrazor was their unwilling captive. But for Elendil's "kidnapping" of Imrazor, there would have been no Princes of Dol Amroth. Or at least not the Imrahil who befriended Aragorn and Legolas, or the Boromir who joined the Fellowship, or the Faramir who became Steward.


	2. Careful, but Also Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Imrazor as a spy in Ar-Pharazon's court, before he met Elendil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kaylee for help with Quenya (the lack of accents is my own fault), and for general proofreading help including with those difficult Numenorean names. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault.
> 
> A/N: This is set in S.A. 3318, the year before Numenor is destroyed, some months before Elendil sets sail away from Numenor in 3319. The epilogue is set during Elendil's kingship. Elendil's sons were Isildur and Anarion; Isildur's sons were Elendur, Anatar, Ciryon, and Valandil.

"You have to be careful, Imrazor." Were probably the first words Imrazor heard. Before he even knew why.

"No one can know that we are Faithful." Was one of the first things his family taught him, when he turned seven and became part of the Secret. The Secret was that they were secretly Faithful; Elendili, the friends of elves, and not King's men at all.

"If you cannot act a King's man, you will stay in the countryside, far away from the court." Was a family RULE.

There were a lot of rules. There had to be. Otherwise, Imrazor would never have been born, let alone lived to be a teenager. Well, almost a teenager. His thirteenth birthday was coming up.

Imrazor's grandmother, Ar-Gimilzor's Queen, Inzilbeth, had won a great victory for the Faithful by carefully, secretly, teaching her oldest son the ways of the Faithful. Inzilbeth's husband Ar-Gimilzor and his adherents, called the King's Men, had further turned from the old ways, following the recent King's ways of forsaking the White Tree, and the worship of Eru. Ar-Gimilzor had further outlawed elvish ways, and persecuted those who remained faithful to the old ways, led by the Lord of Andunie, Queen Inzilbeth's cousin.

The Faithful called themselves the Elendili, and left in large numbers for the lands of Middle Earth where the elves still lived near men, giving up the civilization of Numenor for the more rugged frontiers of Middle Earth, where they could live as they saw fit.

But Ar-Gimilzor had grown old, and Crown Prince Inziladun had believed in the old ways. When Ar-Gimilzor died, Inziladun re-named himself Tar-Palantir, and declared himself as one of the Faithful. Tar-Palantir had thenre-dedicated Numenor to the old alliance with the elves and the worship of Eru. Most of those who had been secret Faithful, like the Queen Mother Inzilbeth, declared themselves in support of Tar-Palantir. They had thought it the last, best, chance to turn Numenor away from disaster.

But Inzilbeth had worried. For though the Lord of Andunie and even many of the royal family itself had supported Tar-Palantir, there was substantial opposition from the King's Men. And they were not without power, Inzilbeth's younger son Gimilkhad and his followers. Some of them were bad men. Some of them were shallow men, who had lost out on power and prestige when Tar-Palantir became King. And some were just men, who did not understand why Numenor should revere an alliance with beings most of them had never even met. And some of them were even GOOD men, like Gimilkhad himself. Proud and willful, too much so for their own good, and that of Numenor, but men who were honorable, and treated others well.

Inzilbeth had not been playing a game when she told her youngest daughter to pretend to stay in her younger son Gimilkhad's graces, and to oppose Tar-Palantir's return to the old ways. Gimilkhad had been a suspicious, careful man. Imrazor's grandmother had been very careful; else she would not have survived Tar-Palantir's death, Ar-Pharazon's coup and Princess Miriel's forced marriage to him. But she had survived that, and lived to bear Imrazor's father and uncle.

Imrazor's father and uncle had been careful too. Careful even though Ar-Pharazon had liked them for many years. Careful enough that Ar-Pharazon's guards believed them, one day when they said that the thief who had stolen a fruit from the white tree had run one way, rather than another. Even more careful after that, for Ar-Pharazon blamed Imrazor's father and uncle, in part, for the escape of Isildur, the grandson of the leader of the Elendili, with a fruit of the White Tree.

After that, Imrazor's family had spent more time at their house in the country side, along the river, by the sea. That was where they had been, for Imrazor's seventh birthday, when Imrazor first learned that they were Faithful. Imrazor nearly hadn't been told the family secret when he turned seven. His family had nearly decided to wait, that their young son was not as mature or discreet as their daughters had been at a similar age.

It was very important that his family be careful. In fact, Imrazor's family had to be even more careful even then the families of his cousins, his grandmother's other children's children, for their household was also the prison of the former Queen Inzilbeth, Imrazor's own great-grandmother. Imrazor's grandmother, a Princess, had married a sea-faring Lord with a profitable shipping business, a distant son of the House of Hador, with the blond hair and blue eyes of his long-ago ancestors. Imrazor's grandmother and grandfather had been very trusted by Gimilkhad and his son Ar-Pharazon. When Tar-Palantir died, and his nephew Ar-Pharazon forced the rightful heir, his first cousin Miriel, to marry him, Ar-Pharazon had appointed Imrazor's grandparents to be the aging Inzilbeth's jailers. So, at the old manor house by the river where Imrazor had grown up, he was frequently witness to loud, staged arguments between Greatgrandma Inzilbeth and his grandmother and parents. It was important to always put on an act of disagreeing with Inzilbeth and her beliefs, for their servants and retainers, which Imrazor's family knew included several spies of Ar-Pharazon's, at all times. Imrazor's family could only be honest with eachother outside, in twos and threes. So they developed a reputation for enjoying long walks along the river, where none could hear them but the beasts of the wood and the creatures of the water.

It later became a family joke, between Imrazor and his sisters, that Imrazor was always in trouble. He wasn't a malicious child, but he was mischievous, and had a fascination with cause and effect. That, and boys are just different from girls. His sisters had been studious, and Imrazor wasn't. He was clever enough, but he would rather be outside, or playing with other children, or learning swordplay. He always had to try things; try climbing a tree, try walking across a bog, try riding his father's new stallion...the list continued. Life was always presenting young Imrazor with new challenges. His parents, whose daughters had been well-behaved, found him a bit of a challenge.

So Imrazor's father and uncle, especially, had hesitated to bring him into the family secret. But Imrazor's oldest sister Sabela, just of age, spoke in favor of telling him, as did his Greatgrandma Inzilbeth. Imrazor had already asked Sabela, discreetly, why cousin Phari (Ar-Pharazon) treated his servants so badly. Imrazor had also already asked his Greatgrandma Inzilbeth, quietly, if she needed help coming up with pretend fights to have with his parents and grandmother. Sabela and Inzilbeth argued that Imrazor should be told, at seven. So the family did tell him, in the end. Walking by the shores of the river as the sun set on the little boy's birthday seventh birthday, the twilight turning his blond curls red-gold.

It settled Imrazor, that knowledge. Being aware that just by being present at court and listening, he was helping to fight the unfairness that so upset the seven year old, when he saw it at court, and even spreading into the countryside. And at first, it had been easy for him. Imrazor was a member of the extended royal family, but that was a fairly large group. And Imrazor had a bright, merry laugh, and the kind of smile that could light up a room. From an early age, Imrazor was one of those children who naturally attract other children, who become the center of any group of friends, not so much because it is their aim, but because they just have lots of ideas they are happy to share, and enjoy spending time with people. Imrazor also had an excellent sense of strategic timing, whether for what day it would be be best to convince his father to let him and his friends swim across the bay, or for when it would be best to time a joke, or for when it would be best to execute a chess move.

Having developed a reputation as a troublemaker from birth helped Imrazor as he grew into a more serious child. Imrazor was able to hide that seriousness, that dedication and purpose, behind the mannerisms of a mischievous, cheerful, naughty child, one without a care in the world. Imrazor mostly stopped getting into trouble after he was in on the Secret - but Imrazor and his family pretended that he was still often in hot water. So Imrazor came to view being a troublemaker as a badge of pride, rather than a source of shame.

Imrazor was very good at collecting information, even at the tender age of seven. He was invited to the homes of all of the other children, and charmed their parents effortlessly. And his parents learned that their youngest son might not have been as easy a child to raise as their daughters, but he had a memory like a steel trap, and could effortlessly produce impressions of different members of Ar-Pharazon's court. So they decided to stay more often at Court, away from their preferred home in the country. Because Imrazor was learning things that they should pass onto their spies who had direct contact with Lord Elendil, the Lord of Andunie, the leader of the Faithful.

Then, when Imrazor was nine, everything changed. His bright laugh and sunny personality attracted the King's notice and approval, and Imrazor became a favorite of Ar-Pharazon's. The King made Imrazor his page, and Imrazor spent several hours of most days at Ar-Pharazon's side, watching him govern their land and meet with his advisors, the most trust of whom was Sauron. Fortunately for Imrazor's peace of mind, and his parents', Sauron took little notice of Imrazor. And Imrazor was scared of Sauron, so he acted uncharacteristically shy and respectful around him. Sauron didn't think that was odd, and neither did Ar-Pharazon, who had great respect for Sauron.

Spending so much time with the King, Imrazor saw at times the man that his father and uncle had been friends with, the man who had been a friend even to Elendil's father Amandil. The man who might have been worth saving. There were times when Cousin Phari (as he asked Imrazor to call him in private) still acted a good man, still resembled the man he had once been, Amandil's friend, the conscientious King. But there were other times...when being around Ar-Pharazon scared Imrazor. And Imrazor was not an easily intimidated child. The King would beat his servants, and even his wife, when he was in a bad mood. And people who upset the King, disappeared. Imrazor didn't see everything, but he saw enough to know that the rumors of blood sacrifices to Melkor, or Morgoth, Sauron's master, were not just rumors. And that terrified him. But Imrazor was now his family's best source of information on the King, so Imrazor held steady. He was careful, and usually managed to act in all ways a King's man in front of Ar-Pharazon. Imrazor learned to smile, or to keep himself blank-faced, as he sat beside the King, watching first-hand Ar-Pharazon's descent into greater madness.

Being in Ar-Pharazon's good graces was a dangerous game. Every year, Ar-Pharazon took on new favorites. Most did not last even a season. But Imrazor's family took the gamble, since Ar-Pharazon seemed enamored of their son. Being one of the King's favorites brought immediate, tangible benefits to Imrazor and his family. Ar-Pharazon showered Imrazor's family with lucrative new shipping contracts, costly gifts, splendid horses, and various other indications of his favor. Imrazor's sisters, who had found it difficult to find husbands, despite being attractive and accomplished, due to Ar-Pharazon's earlier upset with Imrazor's family over the white tree incident, were all of a sudden in great demand as brides. Imrazor's family hesitated, but in the end married each daughter into a family of King's men, to further the family's information network.

Sometimes, Imrazor would learn of things, standing at Ar-Pharazon's side as his page, that had to be taken to other members of the family, immediately. His parents were often away, seeing to their estates and taking information from one place to another, when Imrazor would learn of a planned attack on a community of the Faithful. So Imrazor would take the information to one of the young ladies of the court, whose families were in sympathy with his own, also secret Faithful. And his distant cousins, being female and therefore of less interest to Ar-Pharazon, would take word from the court to one of their contacts in the city, who could pass the warning onto the Faithful before the King's soldiers came.

Even though Imrazor was careful, passing on these warnings got him into trouble from time to time. Imrazor and and his third cousin Ancalime were caught once, by one of Ar-Pharazon's men who brought them to the King. When they heard the footsteps, twelve year old Imrazor had pretended to kiss his sixteen year old cousin Cali, as if he had never been telling her of Sauron's plans to frame the Faithful for the arson of their own ships to commit insurance fraud. It had been Imrazor's first kiss, and he didn't see what all the hype was about. It had mostly just been icky. But what happened after that was worse. Ancalime, who was of no interest to Ar-Pharazon, had been given into the custody of her father, also one of the secret Faithful.

But Imrazor had been punished by the King for inappropriate behavior with a woman of high station. Cousin Phari had caned Imrazor bloody, from shoulders to mid-thigh. Afterward the King had ordered a healer to attend Imrazor, and had lightly scolded him, recommending that Imrazor instead dally with women of light honor, or with Elendili. It was the same thing, Ar-Pharazon had joked. Later that night, cousin Ancalime had returned, telling Imrazor that the King's plot had been successfully foiled, and keeping Imrazor company through the worst of his discomfort. Cali, beautiful, sophisticated Cali, had promised Imrazor a real kiss, once they were of age. And that had made irrepressible Imrazor grin through his pain. Cali was one of the most popular young ladies of court, and having her favor later would make his reputation. That, and Imrazor had quite a crush on her, even if kissing had still been icky.

But Imrazor did not have that much time for levity. He was almost always with Ar-Pharazon, and had to play the part of a young King's man constantly. Though Imrazor had been raised by his parents to be respectful to others no matter their station, it was important that, while in Ar-Pharazon's sight, Imazor not act friendly toward staff or servants. Imrazor's father, who had tutored him in how to act at court, had explained with sad irony that they had to be willing to "kick the footboy." Imrazor could not spend time with friends who were not of their social class, as those friends would then become targets.

Imrazor slipped up and wasn't careful one day. It had been a small moment of not careful, playing a game involving balls and hoops with a young friend of his, a son of the horsemaster. Ar-Pharazon saw him, and told him not to act familiarly with the common swine. Imrazor had apologized immediately, and then explained that the kid had been teaching him tricks to beat his older, larger cousins at that game. "Don't worry," Ar-Pharazon had said. "Cousin Phari will take care of it." Ar-Pharazon had then beaten Imrazor bloody again, but that was not the worst part. Imrazor had been required to watch as that friend of his from the palace, that young stable hand, was disappeared, and then sacrificed. Imrazor had to not react, even had to try to laugh. Something inside Imrazor broke a little bit, that day. Oh, he managed it - but on some level, he began to think cousin Phari was beyond redemption. And when Imrazor next spoke with his oldest sister Sabela, the far-seeing, the two of them shared their fears that Numenor's time was shorter than their parents and grandparents hoped.

This belief that time was running out, along with youthful foolishness, and inexperience with strong drink, led Imrazor to be the opposite of careful, one night at Ar-Pharazon's palace. It was a good thing indeed, that even then, Imrazor was lucky.

Drinking with other young courtiers that night, Imrazor made a joke about how worshiping Melkor didn't make sense. Imrazor was never sure later why exactly he had done such an insane thing - it certainly hadn't been careful. It was partly, perhaps, that Imrazor felt like he had to do something, to try and get through to these young people who were his friends, but who were drinking and laughing while around them their own fellow men of Numenor were being sacrificed to a dark power. Imrazor even got an incredulous laugh, or two. He and Sabela had discussed something like this, between themselves. "If you can laugh at something, you can re-think it." Imrazor had thought to himself. But he still should never have acted on that idea.

Imrazor's father had been warned by a distant cousin, not one of the secret Faithful, but a friend of Imrazor's, that Imrazor had gone and gotten himself into trouble that night. Imrazor's terrified father had rushed to Ar-Pharazon's rooms, where the King had been lecturing Imrazor.

Ar-Pharazon had been in a fairly good mood, fortunately for Imrazor. And Imrazor had worded his joke carefully, even if TELLING the joke had not been careful. What Imrazor had actually said, was "To me, worshipping Melkor doesn't make any more sense than worshiping Eru did. Its all a bunch of effort for nothing. The one demands endless blood, the other demands endless song, its all a bunch of meaningless superstition."

Imrazor's father had been afraid that they were all dead, but Ar-Pharazon had actually laughed. The King seemed annoyed, but tolerant of the drunken foible, even amused. Imrazor's father had begged leave to punish his son himself, to take Imrazor home to the country to lesson him properly.

Ar-Pharazon had agreed, but then had actually argued in favor of leniency for Imrazor. "It is not as if our Imrazor said that he was an Elendili, cousin." Ar-Pharazon had chuckled, trying to calm Imrazor's father. "He just said its all superstitions nonsense, which just shows he's a smart boy, really thinks things through. That's what I thought myself, at Imrazor's age. Sauron here set me straight - hey, Sauron, do you have time to teach my little cousin Imrazor, my page? "

Sauron, whose presence had Imrazor's father's skin crawling, replied, "I wish I did, friend. But my time is entirely taken up with the preparations for that other matter."

Ar-Pharazon had shrugged. "True enough. I'll teach Imrazor myself, when you think he's been punished sufficiently, cousin. I want your son back in no more than a month. I plan to make him my squire, so that Imrazor can accompany me here and there, as my ...other matter, proceeds."

Going home with his father to the country-side, Imazor had known that he was in trouble. Imrazor's little joke could have gotten him banished from the King's side, ruined their source of information. Worse, but for Sauron being too busy and not wanting to child-mind, the author of Numenor's corruption would have had unfettered access to Imrazor several times a week, perhaps even daily. Imrazor's father was upset, more upset than he had been with Imrazor in years and years. But he was still kind to his son, though he did not say much, even after they arrived at the old manor home by the river, near the bay. Instead, Imrazor's mother and sister Sabela greeted him, happy to see Imrazor home, but worried. Imrazor later learned that Sabela had warned his father that Imrazor needed him, the day that Ar-Pharazon had had Imrazor's friend the stable boy killed. Sabela knew things sometimes. And her new husband was a good sort, for all he was truly a King's man. He allowed his young wife to visit her parents as she pleased, provided she did not travel alone with their small daughter, Almairen.

Imrazor loved Almairen, who was just one year old. And Almairen, like most small children, loved Imrazor right back. Normally Imrazor enjoyed playing with Almairen, and reading to her and singing to her, but would happily hand her back to her mother when she needed a diaper change, though he had not minded even changing diapers when he could tell his beloved older sister was tired. It was no worse, in Imrazor's opinion, then mucking out a stable, which he had also done plenty of, when he was at his parent's home. Ostensibly, it had been punishment for some made-up infraction. In reality, Imrazor's parents believed that their children should learn all aspects of care for themselves and their beasts. This particular day, with Imrazor's father still looking at him with that sad, troubled expression that Imrazor knew meant a sore backside was in the offing, Imrazor would have been happy to have changed Almairen's diapers, or cleaned a stable.

Sure enough, after they had rested for an hour, Imrazor's father took him for a walk along the river. Once they were far enough away from the house not to be overheard, Imrazor's father began lecturing his son gently as they walked. "Ar-Pharazon likes you, Imrazor. I know it is a burden for you to stay so close to him, but we cannot spend this capital wastefully, on childish jokes. Your uncle and I had to use our position in Ar-Pharazon's trust to distract the guards so that Elendil's son Isildur could get safely away. We still nearly failed; he was badly injured. And Ar-Pharazon did not talk to us afterward, for having been involved in that embarrassment, until..."

"Until Ar-Pharazon decided that he liked me." Imrazor said in disgust. "And what does that say about me?"

Imrazor's father stopped walking, and gently grasped his son's shoulders to turn the boy to face him. "Don't talk like that, my son. Ar-Pharazon was not always a bad man or a bad King. He likes bright, shining spirits, and you are bold and bright indeed."

Imazor sighed and nodded. He wasn't sure that he agreed, but he didn't want to argue.

His father squeezed his shoulder, then put an arm around Imrazor as they walked along. When the two reached a clearing where an old forest giant had toppled the previous year, Imrazor's father helped him to cut a switch from a water leaning willow, frowning as his son's hands began to shake. "I will not be too harsh with you, Razi." His father reassured him gently.

"I know, Papa." Imrazor managed to reply. He did know that, but the last time his father had switched him, for walking over the river when it had been but thinly covered with ice, had been before Imrazor had been caned by "Cousin Phari." But Ar-Pharazon had not gently reassured him, and his cane had been a far more formidable implement than the switch his father was now holding, as he watched his son with discerning eyes.

"Come, my son. Let us have this done with." Imrazor's father prompted him gently, seating himself on the fallen tree, and waiting for his son to place himself in the accustomed position, bare-bottom over his father's knee.

"Papa, I am too old for that." Imrazor assured his father, wide-eyed. Bluff boldly enough, and sometimes your opponent wouldn't realize your hand was weak, the almost-teenager though to himself. For Imrazor's father did not know how severely the boy had been punished by the King, punished merely for doing his job as a spy. And Imrazor knew those beatings had left scars, which would cause his father pain and sadness. And Imrazor's father already had enough guilt, without knowing this.

But Imrazor's father was a perceptive man, too, and knew well his son. "Razi, now." His father said firmly, but not unkindly.

Imrazor sighed and obeyed, feeling his father stiffen as he saw the pale lines which were the souvenir Imrazor carried from having disappointed Ar-Pharazon's standards, for having kissed cousin Cali, and for having played cheerfully with a young man of a lower-class.

"Ai, Razi." His father murmured gently, an ocean of pain in his deep, regretful voice, "what did he do to you?"

Imrazor, stifling tears at remembering the pain and the terror of being at the King's mercy, contrasted with how safe he felt in his father's arms, despite the situation, explained. His father gently righted him, pulling his cloak around them both, and Imrazor finally cried, safe, loved, protected. Even if he must go back soon, to living a dangerous double life.

"I am furious with Ar-Pharazon, Razi." Imrazor's father told him, gently rocking his beloved son. "I did not realize that he would be so cruel to you. I would have expected him to see you punished for kissing Ancalime, but only paddled or strapped, not caned so severely that you will bear scars for all of your life. I am so sorry, my son. So sorry that I must leave you where you will be punished when you behave as the man you should be, the man I want you to be. If you cannot walk this line anymore, we can send you away, far away to Lindon, on the ships that sail the Faithful to safety."

Imrazor shook his head, tears drying up. "No. I can keep going. I just made a mistake, Papa. I'll be more careful, I promise."

"Very well." Imrazor's father sighed. "I hate to punish you, especially after knowing how severely you were unjustly punished for doing your job. But I will, because I love you. And I would be devastated if you made a mistake like this again, when I was not there to protect you."

Imrazor nodded. "Don't go easy on me, Papa. This was a big mistake, I know it was. My joke could have gotten people killed - you and Mama, Sabela and my other sisters, even little Almairen."

Imrazor's father gently kissed his son's blond curls, before up-ending the youth over his knee again. "I will not "go easy," on you, my brave one. But I would thank you not to dictate to me how I should proceed."

Imrazor blushed as his father paired that last light scold with a series of firm spanks with his hand. Imrazor's father was a strong man, had been a warrior for many years, and his hand alone was enough to quickly make Imrazor's bottom sting sharply, suddenly too warm in unpleasant contrast to the evening cool.

Imrazor's father continued to calmly lecture his son, as he smacked Imrazor's bottom soundly, again and again, paying particular attention to the tender under curve and sit spots. "I'm not going easy on you, child, because this WAS a large mistake on your part. I - and your mother, and the rest of your family - should never have asked you to take on this dangerous role. But we have, because we feel we must, and to keep you safe, I will hold you to a very high standard of discretion."

Imrazor squeaked as another hard smack landed on his right sit spot, then gasped as his father's hand stopped falling. Imrazor knew he still had the switch to contend with.

His father, sensing his worry, paused to pat Imrazor's lower back gently. "I would never make you bleed, never scar you, my son. Never, ever. You have nothing to fear from me but temporary pain, lingering mild discomfort, and all for the cause of loving correction. I promise" His father reassured him.

Imrazor, voice hoarse from suppressed tears, bottom already sore and stinging just from the child's punishment he had already received, nodded. "I know, Papa, but it is hard to remember, sometimes."

Imrazor's father continued to rub his back, as the fire he'd lit on Imrazor's bottom decreased from a conflagration to a mere blaze. "I know. I know, my most beloved son. My brave boy, my silent soldier. I am so very proud of you. This punishment is in part to let you know you do not have to bear your burdens alone. To remind you to come to me, when you are feeling overwhelmed. Instead of imbibing too much drink, and nearly ending up with Sauron as your tutor. I can call you home for weeks or months for a rest, or even arrange for you to start a new life on middle-earth, if you reach the end of your endurance."

Imrazor noddd, and agreed that he would come to his father if he needed it. But they both knew that not-quite-yet-a teenager Imrazor was their best source of information on Ar-Pharazon's true intentions. They knew they couldn't afford to lose that, and that cousin Phari would not think well of Imrazor being too often absent from his side.

"Very well, dear one." Imrazor's father warned him, resting the switch gently against his son's pink bottom, before raising it less than a foot over Imazor's backside and bringing it back down with a flick of his wrist.

"Ow!" Imrazor cried sharply, then blushed anew. The impact had stung, especially on top of the spanking he'd already received. But it was not terrible, hardly even worth the outcry.

"Five more, Razi." His father told him, before bringing the switch down again. Enough to sting, to cause a whimper. But not harsh. Nothing like Imrazor's last, terrible, experiences at the hands of his King.

"Its ok to cry out, Razi." His father assured him. "There's no one to hear you but the frogs and the birds." Imrazor nodded, and yelped as the switch came down twice more on the round part of his bottom, then twice more again, overlapping on his tender undercurve. Then Imrazor's father cast the switch aside, and returned to gently rubbing his son's back, murmuring reassurances that Imrazor was forgiven his lapse, that his father had faith in Imrazor's ability to be more careful in the future, else he would not be sending Imrazor back at all.

Imrazor cried softly. He did not want to move at all. His bottom stung horribly, though it was far, far, less painful than what he had endured from Cousin Phari. Still, this milder pain, which he had actually earned at the hands of one he loved and respected by making a mistake, made him feel more regretful.

"Papa?" Imrazor managed at last, getting up to give his father an appealing look. "Can I go for a swim?"

His father hesitated. "Its really a bit cool for that, tonight, Razi."

Imrazor's eyes teared up again, not on purpose. Though Imrazor wasn't above a bit of manipulation to get his way in this small matter. They had a long enough walk back to the house, and Imrazor wanted to soak his stinging, sore, bottom in the cold water of the river, first.

"Oh, very well." Imrazor's father agreed, helping his son to doff tunic and undershirt, heavily embroidered with gold thread, as befitted Imrazor's station as Ar-Pharazon's page. "But do not tell your mother, Razi."

"No, I won't." Imrazor assured his father, jumping into the cool water of the river, and sighing with relief as it soothed the fire on his backside. Physical discomfort relieved, Imrazor turned to swimming for a few moments against the current, then letting himself drift back towards the bend where his father waited. It was pleasant, despite the circumstances, to be back home, by the river, where everything made sense. Some tension inside Imrazor which he had barely been aware of dissipated, and the boy almost gasped to find himself lighter, freed of that burden. As the frogs sang to welcome the approaching twilight, and the wings of the birds rustled softly overhead, Imrazor realized, and was glad, that he had told his father the truth. Imrazor could go back, again. Continue his charade, again. Before that moment, Imrazor had not been sure.

Before Imrazor was ready, his father sternly summoned him from the water, handing Imrazor his cloak to dry off with, and helping his son to re-dress. The walk back to the house was still painful for Imrazor, and he blushed to see the knowing looks from his friends amongst the young people on their estate. It had been a long time since Imrazor had truly been in trouble, required to walk back to the house with a sore, stinging bottom, rather than had the punishment itself be a charade, to mask the truly close and trusting relationship between youngest child and parents. Sabela greeted Imrazor with a gentle hug, and Almairen clapped in delight to see her favorite playmate. Dinner was a delicious medley of seafood, and no one teased Imrazor for standing whilst he ate. Afterwards, Imrazor fell asleep on his stomach with his window wide open, the sound of the waves lulling him soothingly to pleasant dreams.

"Razi, wake up." Sabela murmured softly, but with urgency, several hours later.

"'Bela?" Imrazor answered, muzzy with sleep. "Need me to take the baby?"

"No, little brother. I need you to follow me, Mama and Papa are having a conference with some of the elders of the Secret Faithful, in the hidden room by the library. We can hear what they say from the escape tunnel leading from my old room, if we are very, very quiet." Sabela told him, handing him an over-robe.

Imrazor cast a doubtful look at the cooing Almairen, wiggling in Sabela's arms. "Will 'Mairi stay quiet?" He asked dubiously.

Sabela nodded. "She's hungry, and I had wine with dinner. She'll be fine."

Imrazor followed his beloved oldest sister, carefully avoiding the squeaky spots on the floor of the stairway. Kneeling beside Sabela, who started nursing the now-quiet Almairen, Imrazor listened with interest to the voices through the small vent that gave away the old escape tunnel from the room which had long been the family nursery.

"The boy nearly got you all killed." An unfamiliar voice lectured.

"He made a mistake, yes." Imrazor's mother defended her son. "But it was not so terrible of a mistake. You have been far from court for a long time. We who still bide there know that doubt is permitted, even of Morgoth. It is faith that it is not - and Imrazor obscured that point well." Imrazor's mother was not of the royal line. She had been ennobled by Ar-Pharazon for her services as a healer in the war against Sauron. Imrazor's mother was descended of the House of Haleth, and Sabela had inherited her dark brown hair. Almairen's hair was a rich brown like her mother's, but with highlights of red and gold when touched by the sun. It always surprised Imrazor to see his mother go toe-to-toe with his father and grandmother, who were of royal birth, and stood tall and blond to his mother's small and dark. But Imrazor's mother was not intimidated by anyone. Not even Ar-Pharazon.

"Its too much pressure to put on a small child." Imrazor's grandmother argued, grave but loving.

"It is." Imrazor's mother agreed. "And I do not like it either. But the possible rewards may be worth the risk."

"What rewards?" The strange voice asked, irritably.

Imrazor's father spoke up. "If cousin Ar-Pharazon has no children (which is likely, as Miriel refuses to bear them), Imrazor is his favorite of Ar-Gimilzor's other descendants. Ar-Pharazon could very well adopt our son and make Imrazor his heir."

There was a moment of silence. Sabela was stunned. Imrazor looked at his sister, sick knowledge in his eyes, and nodded. Ar-Pharazon had already mentioned that possibility to Imrazor, as well as promised to make the boy a Prince in his own right, and a squire, come Imrazor's thirteenth birthday.

Sabela's eyes widened, and her free hand squeezed her little brother's tightly. She knew that Imrazor wanted none of that.

Imrazor's grandmother spoke again. "Difficult as this is for Imrazor, we'll have to tell him to be more careful, and hope for the best. Ar-Pharazon won't last forever, no matter how many people he kills. If Imrazor can continue to stay in his good graces, all we have to do is wait. Imrazor will become King, in time, and he can be a second Tar-Palantir. Hopefully one with better luck."

The strange voice, huskier still, agreed. "Aye, its worth the risk, to avoid the revolution that's coming. Tell the laddie to be careful, and wish him well."

As their parents and their guests said their farewells, Sabela and Imrazor crept quietly back to their rooms, promising to talk the next day.

Picnicking on the grass the following noon, with the sea breeze blowing their fright away, sister and brother spoke candidly of their parents' plans.

"I could hold on, if I had to, that long, 'Bela, at least I think that I could, with breaks." Imrazor explained, in between blowing kisses at Almairen. "But Ar-Pharazon is less and less sane - he wants to make me his heir as a back-up plan, but he honestly believes that he'll live forever, that he has all the time in the world to get a son. And if he ever does have a son, he'll probably have me killed."

Sabela shook her head, weaving the fragrant sea grass into a mat for the entry way to her home, near the capital. "Its a long-term plan and a lot could go wrong. But I don't think it matters. Unfortunately," Sabela continued, removing a stalk of grass from Almairen's rose-bud mouth, "I don't think we have that kind of time."

"Neither do I." Imrazor agreed sadly.

As the wind blew in colder from the sea, Sabela stiffened. "Imrazor," she said intently, "there are things that you don't know, codes and contacts, that were not given to you due to caution, since you are still so young, and stand so close to the King."

"Don't tell me, Sabela." Imrazor said, blinking back tears as he handed Almairen a leaf. "I nearly ruined everything, making my stupid joke about Morgoth. If I mess up again, or Sauron decides that I'm more interesting than he had thought, they could realize I'm not their man, and get that type of information from me." Imrazor looked up at his sister, remembered, witnessed, horrors in his eyes. "Everybody has a breaking point, 'Bela. No matter how strong they are." If Ar-Pharazon were to threaten his sisters or his niece, Imrazor knew he would cave.

"Razi." Sabela said, beautiful voice stern. "Listen. We are running out of time. You know it and I know it and even fluff-headed cousin Cali knows it. Our parents have been watching and waiting since before we were born. They knew Ar-Pharazon when he was a better man, and they cannot fully comprehend the insane monster he has become. There may come a day when you realize its your last, only, chance to make a difference, and it requires you going directly to a contact, or even to Lord Elendil himself."

"What are you saying, Sabela?" Imrazor asked, frightened.

"I'm saying that you should listen to your instincts, my beloved baby brother." Sabela encouraged him, as she picked up Almairen to feed her again. "Your instincts are sound; they could even be a form of fore-sight."

"My "instincts," Imrazor mocked himself cruelly, "nearly got us all killed two nights ago, remember?"

"Razi, I remember, but you might have done some good, too." Sabela said, smiling gently, wistfully, at her adored youngest sibling, whom she knew she would never see again. Sabela had the sight, and so, too, would Almairen. If she lived to grow up.

"Do you think?" Imrazor asked, feeling a bit less like an idiot. If he had convinced one of his young friends that the worship of Morgoth was a mistake, that it was time to leave the island and begin anew elsewhere, then his mistake would not seem so horrible.

"I do think so, but it was still foolish." Sabela chided lovingly. "But I will teach you these codes, and where to find these contacts, because you are very rarely foolish, especially for a teenage boy."

Imrazor frowned at his sister. "I wish I had brothers." He said, sticking out his tongue. "Then Mama and Papa wouldn't have thought I was a demon changeling for the first seven years of my life."

Sabela laughed musically. "They never thought THAT, Razi. Now, here, memorize what I tell you," and Sabela repeated the information Imrazor would need, if he ever had to go to Elendil himself. For some reason, it seemed like the right thing to do, like telling seven year old Imrazor the Secret had seemed the right thing to do. And Sabela had never hesitated, when something seemed right. No matter how hard it was.

After Imrazor had memorized the codes, he laid down with his head pillowed on his sister's soft skirts, Almairen cuddled in his arms, listening to the cries of the gulls, and to Sabela's soft lullaby.

"Dawn is breaking, my baby, don't cry  
The heron is in the river; don't make him fly.  
Come noontime, the fish will still be in the sea,  
And you, my baby, will still be with me.  
At eventide, the frogs will sing in the fens,  
And you, my baby, will be with me again."

Imrazor smiled as he felt sleep claim him, for on the refrain, instead of the normal final verse, Sabela sang, "And little Razi will be in trouble again." His middle sisters had first changed the words of the lullaby, when Imrazor had been four or five. At first it had made Imrazor angry, but when being troublesome itself became part of his cover, something brave he did on behalf of the Faithful, the words had become a source of pride. And Sabela had never used that verse, until that day.

Epilogue

Imladris, S.A. 3433 (While the armies of the last alliance were gathering to oppose Sauron)

Imrazor grinned as he used his scimitar and short blade to deflect another blow from the previous baby of the family, his foster-nephew Ciryon, before disarming the youth.

Ciryon made a face at him. "I still say that its a stupid looking sword."

Elendur, Ciryon's older brother, now nearly 150, laughed. "I told you not to bet with Imrazor, Ciri. Now you owe him your free afternoon tomorrow."

"When will you learn, baby brother?" Aratan, Ciryon's middle brother, teased.

"I am NOT a baby. I'm nearly fifty." Ciryon protested, annoyed, as he accepted Imrazor's hand up from the dust of the outdoor practice ring nearest Lord Elrond's house, in Imladris.

"You're nearly fifty in the same way Imrazor was "nearly" sixteen when we left Numenor." Elendur commented wryly.

A wide grin displayed Imrazor's white teeth, startling in his tanned face. "Don't worry, Ciryon. I do not demand too difficult of a forfeit from you - I merely need a popular, well-respected young knight of Gondor and Arnor to help me introduce my men to the stalwart troops from Arnor."

Aratan laughed. "You mean your dark-skinned pirates, Uncle Imrazor."

"They're not pirates," Imrazor protested, as his foster-nephews all laughed. "Well," Imrazor amended, "They're not pirates anymore."

"Just you wait until Atar and Anatar see some of your troops, titta otorno." Elendur warned, shaking his head. "They're not going to be happy."

"Isildur will think its funny." Imrazor disagreed. "And I'm hoping we can talk Atar around. Want to help?" He asked his oldest nephew with an appealing grin. At seven years older than Imrazor, Elendur was more like a youngest older brother to Imrazor, then a nephew.

Elendur swung a companionable arm over Imrazor's shoulders as the group of young Princes walked toward the bath house Lord Elrond had added to Imladris as the numbers of gathering soldiers had swelled. "I'll join you and Ciryon tomorrow, getting to know them better. If I think that they'll stand faithfully at your back, no matter how the battle goes, then I'll support you in this matter."

Imrazor nodded. He knew that was the best he was going to get. Elendur was as protective of Imrazor as Isildur was of Anarion. Imrazor paused as their group walked by the open window of the sunny gallery where the ladies who had accompanied their male kinfolk to the mustering point were gathered to weave and sew. One of the ladies was singing a song in a regional dialect of Andunaic, one that Imrazor was quite familiar with. He allowed nostalgia to bring a faint smile to his lips, remembering the last time he had heard that song, safe beside his sister, before their world ended. Imrazor braced himself, becase he knew that he would never hear his family's special version of the last verse again. Then....he did. Imrazor stopped, shocked.

"Titta otorno? Imrazor? What's the matter?" Elendur inquired, worried. Imrazor was almost never shocked.

Imrazor didn't answer, he just ran into Lord Elrond's house, still sweaty and covered in dirt. Imrazor's levies from Belfalas had arrived only that day, and their Prince had not had time yet to change. Lord Elrond's guards permitted King Elendil's foster-son passage, and his nephews, the Princes of Arnor and Gondor, followed close at Imrazor's heels.

"Ciri." Elendur directed firmly. "Go get Anatar. Tell him that Imrazor is acting oddly."

"Why me?" Prince Ciryon objected.

His middle brother smacked his shoulder. "Because Elendur said. Go." Aratan scolded.

Ciryon rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. "Poor Valandil," Ciryon thought to himself, as he ran to get his father from a conference with their distant uncle and his cousin, "Having brothers decades older than you is no fun." Ciryon resolved to be a less bossy older brother to the new baby, born to Isildur and Kiiriel less than a year past.

Elendur, meanwhile, followed his oldest "baby" brother into the ladies' gallery in surprise. Imrazor was unfailingly courteous and polite to women, although he would joke and spar with those whom he knew well, if they encouraged it. It was surprising to Elendur that Imrazor would run unbidden into such gentle company.

"Imrazor?" Princess Kiiriel inquired in delighted surprise. "I am so pleased that you have arrived, come greet your new nephew, little brother."

"Sister." Imrazor nodded to Kiiriel. "I would, but I am all over dirt from the road. Forgive me." Contrary to his custom, for Imrazor loved Kiirel, and all babies, especially his nephews, Elendil's oldest foster-son barely spared a glance for his foster-sister or the new Prince Valandil. His gaze had moved immediately to a young woman, also holding a baby. A young woman with rich brown hair, gold and red highlights brought out by the sun streaming through the window. Her gray-green eyes met Imrazor's, and widened in surprise.

"You were singing, just now?" Imrazor asked the young woman.

"Yes, Prince Imrazor." She confirmed shyly, though she was not often shy.

"Imrazor, titta hano, this is Lady Mairenwen. She is the daughter of Lord Hallatan, who had settled in the north of Eriador but a few months prior to when our King arrived." Kiiriel advised, taken aback by Imrazor's odd manner, which Elendur advised his mother with a shrug that he didn't understand, either.

"Would you sing, again, my Lady?" Imrazor asked, as Elendil, summoned by Ciryon's hasty message, appeared behind his foster-son, gripping Imrazor's shoulder.

"I...if you wish, my Prince." Mairenwen replied, a bit intimidated by the presence of the King of Men, though not as much by Prince Isildur, behind him. She had grown to know all of Kiiriel's family well, as their sons were almost the exact same age.

"Imrazor, stop intimidating Mairenwen." Isildur scolded his baby brother. "Come with me, we'll get you cleaned up, and then you can ask Mairi to sing tonight. Honestly, titta hano. You know better."

Imrazor held up a hand, and turned to his father, speaking swiftly in Adunaic, which he hardly ever did, anymore. "Have I ever said to you, in all the years since you welcomed me into your family, that I thought one of my own close family members might have survived?"

King Elendil's eyes widened. "Never, my son."

Imrazor nodded, terrible hope in his eyes. "I am saying so now. I pray you, give me ten minutes."

Elendil nodded, and motioned for Isildur to stand down. "My lady," he entreated Mairenwen, "please do as my son asks."

Mairenwen, less intimidated and more curious, as Imrazor looked oddly familiar to her, nodded and sang again.

Imrazor turned to Elendil. "You see?" He asked, again in Adunaic.

"I see." Elendil agreed, and Kiiriel, Isildur, and Elendur saw as well, for they all knew enough of what had once been the common language of Numenor to detect that, "And little Razi will be in trouble again," was not the standard verse of that lullaby, though none of them had known "Razi' as a nickname for their Imrazor.

"I am sorry, I do not know what the words mean." Mairenwen apologized, confused.

"The song was a common one, throughout much of Numenor." Imrazor explained carefully, "but the last verse you sang was not, it was a ... private family joke, of my sisters'. No one else sang it that way."

"I am sorry, my Prince." Mairenwen said, greatly sympathetic. She did not know very much about Imrazor, save that he had been made Prince of Belfalas by the sea. But she knew her own foster-father Hallatan had lost family on Numenor, and she mourned for this handsome young man, come to fight the dark lord, and his lost loved ones. "But I am not of Numenor; I was born in Arnor, and taken in by my father as a foundling."

"Taken in you were, Mairi." Lord Hallatan corrected, having come at Lord Elrond's bidding, "but you were born in Numenor, though I never told you, thinking to protect you. Your mother was the Princess Sabela, Prince Imrazor's oldest sister. She and I were of an age, and when I prepared to sail after Prince Imrazor...convinced me it was a good idea, not long before the end, Sabela handed you to me on the quay, and bid me take you in, take you to Middle Earth with me, treat you as my own. I have loved you as a daughter, and I gave you a new name, also thinking to protect you. It was the happiest day of my life when you married my own son, but you were born Princess Almairen, on Numenor."

Imrazor would have collapsed, but for his foster-father's hand holding him up.

Mairenwen handed her son carefully to her husband, Lord Hallatan's son, Aldarion, and came to embrace Imrazor. "Then, you are my uncle, Prince Imrazor. And neither of us survived Numenor alone. Not anymore."

Some time later, when the emotions of the moment had died down, and his niece had gone to put his new great-nephew down for a nap, Imrazor found himself with his old friend and sixth cousin, Lord Hallatan, his new nephew-by-law Aldarion, his father the King, and his foster-brother Isildur and grown foster-nephews. Hallatan repeated the story of how Imrazor had made a joke, at great personal risk, that had made Hallatan re-think his loyalty to Ar-Pharazon, and prepare to leave Numenor as soon as he could, incidentally carrying Imrazor's niece Almairen to safety with him.

Imrazor, not thinking, explained Ar-Pharazon's reaction to his joke. Over a century later, getting ready to face Sauron again, Imrazor could see the humor in it.

Elendur, not so much, apparently. "You nearly ended up with SAURON as a tutor, titta otorno?" Elendur asked, horrified.

Imrazor, a little wrung out from his day, didn't recognize the signs of Elendur's impending lecture. "Yes." Imrazor chuckled. "But for the dark lord not wanting to be a child-minder, I and my whole family would probably have died. I was a good liar,"

Isildur coughed, "Was," He commented, sotto voice.

Imrazor, loftily ignoring his older foster brother, continued "but probably not good enough to have withstood day after day of one -on-one contact with Sauron, without giving something away."

"If you had died, or converted, we might never have gotten the warning to leave Numenor in time." Elendil murmured. "Lucky, indeed."

Hallatan nodded, and explained how the whole court had been taken in by Imrazor's family, how no one had suspected they might be Faithful, except for perhaps right after White Tree incident.

Imrazor winced. He had never told his foster-family of his father and uncle's involvement in that particular youthful misadventure of Isildur's. Isildur and Elendur in particular hated to be left out of the loop on anything involving Imrazor.

Sure enough, Elendur asked, "Why after the White Tree incident?"

And of course, Hallatan, who did not realize that he might be getting Imrazor into trouble, explained in what Imrazor felt was excessive detail how Imrazor's family had become popular again due to Imrazor's popularity with Ar-Pharazon, and how they had previously suffered the King's displeasure, because two of them had embarrased Ar-Pharazon by letting a thief get away.

Isildur gave his younger foster-brother an annoyed look. "Letting a thief get away, eh, "Razi"?"

Imrazor, knowing that any reaction would merely encourage his oldest brother's odd sense of humor, said quellingly "It didn't seem relevant."

Isildur nodded solemnly, "I see, titta hanonya." Teasing but serious, Isildur turned to his oldest son, "Elendur, yonya, take your little uncle for a swim, and give him a good talking to about what is and isn't relevant."

Imrazor, too tired from his journey and the pleasant shock of the day to put up much of a fight, was quickly captured by the energetic, slightly annoyed Elendur. "Elendur, nooo," Imrazor objected in a whine, as he found himself slung over Elendur's broad shoulder.

Elendur smacked his younger foster-uncle's backside, just hard enough to sting. "Don't wiggle, "Razi," I might drop you." Elendur scolded, laughing despite his worry over how much Imrazor had endured before they met him, and by how much of his past Imrazor had never seen fit to share his foster-family.

Imrazor gulped, recognizing he would have to placate worried "big brother" Elendur that night. "You're such a mean nephew, anyaro otorno." Imrazor accused Elendur, stifling a laugh of his own.

Elendur chuckled in response, swatting Imrazor's bottom again, less forcefully. "Mean I may be, Imrazor. But you will learn to confide in us, I swear, titta otorno. If I have to belabor this point with you every night until we march."

"That really won't be necesary, Elendur." Imrazor protested as his oldest foster-nephew carried him toward the baths. "I'm a fast learner, really."


	3. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ar-Pharazon, at Sauron's urging, plans to invade Aman. Ar-Pharazon's squire Imrazor plots to betray his King.

Ar-Pharazon the Golden, great King of Numenor and Liberator of Middle Earth, sat in state in the great hall of Armenolos, the city of Kings. Dark-haired and pale-skinned, with the all-seeing gray eyes of the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur, the King commanded the attention of every eye. 

"Ready Alcarondas," Ar-Pharazon ordered, speaking of his mighty flagship with the black and gold sails, "And bid my Captains to prepare for a voyage of...." 

"At least a month, great King." Murmured Sauron, Ar-Pharazon's Chief Advisor, from a smaller throne on the King's right. 

The King smiled, a cold gleam of triumph in his eye. "By my birthing day, we shall rule in the West, and be immortal!" 

Sauron smiled in turn, his dark eyes shining. "It shall be as you say, mighty King. The world entire will finally know a ruler worthy of praise and obedience." 

To the King's left stood the Prince Imrazor, Ar-Pharazon's squire and adopted heir. He was terrified, but he'd been terrified for most of the past year. He managed to hide it well enough, at least until the King dismissed him. Imrazor pretended to be tongue-tied in the presence of the great Sauron, and Ar-Pharazon didn't question it. Sauron didn't like children, and at thirteen, Imrazor still acted child enough to keep himself away from the fallen Maia's attention. 

"They mean to do it, 'Cali." Imrazor told his cousin later that day, draining half a bottle of wine in one long gulp. 

The Lady Ancalime, one of the reigning young beauties of Ar-Pharazon's court, took the wine bottle away. "Getting drunk as a skunk won't help that, 'Razi." She lectured the younger teen. 

"No...but it was....they just sat there and...they're going to try to kill the Valar, 'Cali, if the Valar won't bow to Ar-Pharazon! Can the Valar even be killed?" 

"I don't know." She replied gravely. "Imrazor, we need to talk to your father. Or mine. Or Cousin Azruben. Somebody who will know what to do." 

"There's not time. My father is in Romenna with the fleet, yours is in Eldalonde. And I think that Ar-Pharazon is starting to suspect Azruben." 

Ancalime cursed, and tugged on a dark curl tumbling fetchingly loose from her her braided and bejeweled hair. "Does he know?" She asked quietly. "That he is of the Secret Faithful? And if he knows of Azruben, who else...." Was her father at risk, Ancalime meant. And her mother, and sisters, and everyone who served them. 

Imrazor shook his head. "I don't think that Ar-Pharazon knows anything, not for sure. I think that Azruben just didn't sound enthusiastic enough when Sauron first proposed to the Council of the Sceptre that we sail to the West and conquer Aman." 

Ancalime laughed bitterly, getting up to pace. Her diaphanous blue-grey gown moved about her like the sea in the wind from the east. Imrazor just watched her, wondering where the fluff-headed gossip of two years ago had gone. 

"So he wants us to smile and cheer as we race to our doom. As we make of ourselves heretics, unfaithful and ungrateful for all that we've been given." Ancalime said, angry and disbelieving. 

"Fatuously." Quipped Imrazor, "He wants us to smile and cheer fatuously. He is the great Ar-Pharazon, conqueror of Mordor..." 

"Sycophant of Mordor. Fool of Sauron." Ancalime hissed. 

"Careful, careful, Cali dear." Imrazor lectured, wondering when it was that he had become the careful one. Somber as a ghost, Imrazor stood up beside his cousin, squeezing the marble rail of the balcony. "They mean to do it, Ancalime. And Sauron has advised that cousin Ar-Pharazon send a quarter of the fleet - one hundred ships - to Andunie." 

"To Andunie?" Repeated Ancalime, not seeming to understand the significance of that. 

"To Andunie, to stop Lord Elendil and the Faithful from sending more ships to Middle Earth. Maybe to put them all to the sword, even." Elendil's father, Lord Amandil of Andunie, had disappeared the year before. Where he had gone and for what reason had not been shared with Imrazor or Ancalime. Imrazor hoped that the Lord's disappearance wasn't the work of Sauron. Amandil would not be the first Lord of Numenor to disappear into the fires burned for Melkor, for Morgoth who was Sauron's dark master. But he would be the mightiest, and if Amandil, who had once been as a brother to Ar-Pharazon, could be disappeared, then anyone could. 

"Get a message to your father, Imrazor." Ancalime advised, "He can arrange to have word sent to Lord Elendil."

Imrazor shook his head. "Not in time. They've been preparing for this for a long time, I think, 'Cali. Father's last messages said that the fleet was nearly ready to sail, all four hundred ships. Ar-Pharazon always heeds Sauron's advice these days. He's not going to wait long to send the detachment to Andunie. They have maybe a week. At most two, if father and his men can delay the departure."

"Well, what can we do?" Ancalime asked. 

"I don't know." 

The two cousins sat in silence for a few moments, as they watched the stars come out over Armenelos. 

"I think....I think that I should ride to Andunie." Imrazor said, "To warn Lord Elendil. Now, tonight." 

Ancalime turned to him, goose pimples raised on the pale skin of her arms under the serpentine gold bracelets adorning them. "Ar-Pharazon will kill you if he finds out, 'Razi. We may all die, if he knows you turned traitor or even just if you annoy him. And besides, you don't know the codes. You couldn't get an audience with Elendil, even if you made it all the way to Andunie over land." 

"I...I do have the codes. Sabela gave them to me, when I was last home. If I can get to an officer of Elendil's, someone in his household, then I can get the message through." Sabela was Imrazor's oldest sister, and she'd taken quite a risk. 

Ancalime's grey-blue eyes reflected her surprise, and then a new-found determination. 

"Go, then." She advised her thirteen year old cousin. "Go tonight. Wear a dark cloak until you get to the gate, then at the first guard station after Armenelos, show your livery as Ar-Pharazon's squire and commandeer horses or...whatever else you need." 

"Logistics really isn't your area, is it, 'Cali?" Imrazor joked, because he didn't like to be serious. 

"It isn't." Ancalime agreed, with a toss of her pretty curls, "But coming up with excuses, is. Lucky for you - I'll tell Lord Belzagor and his lot that you've gone truant to woo a new lady-friend. That should get back to Ar-Pharazon by tomorrow afternoon, but not before that." 

"Tell Belzagor, and then go yourself, home to your family's estates." Imrazor pleaded, "Please, 'Cali. Not just because I want you safe, but because Ar-Pharazon is getting more suspicious." 

"Don't worry about me." Ancalime told him, squeezing his hand. "I can lie to good old cousin 'Phari, if I have to. And Sauron thinks me of even less interest than you - he won't look closely." Both cousins knew that if the dark Maia looked at them, really looked, that all of their deceptions and the very existence of the Secret Faithful would become known to him. But Sauron didn't think that children, or women, were a threat. Which had something to do with why Ancalime and Imrazor were still at court, when most of the more senior of the Faithful were elsewhere.

The two cousins hugged, and then Ancalime called for her maid and a light dinner. Imrazor ate quickly and then took his leave of her, and embarked on what would be his last ride through Numenor. He would make it to Elendil in Andunie, and then sail to Middle Earth with the Elendili. He would serve in Elendil's court in Arnor and Isildur's and Anarion's courts in Osgiliath. Imrazor would serve in Elendil's army and navy, fight in the War of the Last Alliance, and become the first Prince of Dol Amroth. He would marry the elven maiden Mithrellas, and father two half-elven children, Galador and Gilmith of Dol Amroth. 

Ancalime would die for Ar-Pharazon's folly, when the dark wave came to drown Numenor. All that would remain of her would be Imrazor's memory. He would always remember the vivacious, beautiful cousin who had helped him to commit treason against Ar-Pharazon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like Imrazor, you might also enjoy Growing Pains - http://archiveofourown.org/works/226056/chapters/342498


End file.
